


Door Number One

by elementalv



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-26
Updated: 2007-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is a terrible manager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Door Number One

He’s a terrible manager.

He is, and he knows he is, but he doesn’t feel badly about that, because he also knows he isn’t the worst manager in the whole of human history. He’s not even close, when it comes right down to it, because he’s never, for instance, made his people prove they needed a trip to the toilet by making them pee in a bucket in the middle of the room (Alicia Gantry, Ellifort Industries, Crispin Space Station, 6143). He’s also never made sacrifices of his people to a Brillsot restaurant owner in exchange for gold and power (Edmund Travers, Watchers Ltd., London, 1898). And he has never, _ever_ forced his people to attend team-building exercises in the name of promoting company spirit and improving morale (ninety percent of all human managers, starting on Earth circa 1984).

Still, he’s a terrible manager.

It’s a limitation Torchwood accepts, because they hired Jack for his knowledge of aliens and time and the Doctor, not for his people skills, which he has in spades. It’s just that they’re not particularly useful anywhere except the bedroom, the one place where he manages people quite well. So well, in fact, that he’s won awards. One award, at any rate, and he wonders sometimes whatever happened to it.

Jack thinks about that as he stares at Ianto and considers what to do next. Two people died because Ianto couldn’t let go of his girlfriend, and that’s a problem that requires disciplinary action. Or something. Jack isn’t sure what, because he lost the Personnel Policies and Procedures Manual a while back and hasn’t gotten around to requesting a new one, and he’s unlikely to do so any time soon, even knowing it might come in handy at times.

The thing is, though, that this was a one-time problem. Ianto was, and probably still is, fixated on a woman who is now most sincerely dead, so he isn’t at all likely to mutiny again. He’s too loyal and devoted to have more than one rebellion in a lifetime. He is, in fact, the perfect Torchwood dog, despite this momentary lapse of common sense and decency. Now that Lisa is in cold storage, Jack thinks Ianto will probably throw himself into his work with even more determination. What else _could_ Ianto do? His only personal obsession is beyond his reach.

Obsession.

Guided properly, it can move mountains. Ignored or disregarded, it can kill. If Jack were a better manager, he might have noticed Ianto’s tendency toward obsession and done something other than treat him like a piece of useful, attractive equipment. Jack isn’t exactly sure what he would have done though, because, as he reminds himself constantly, he’s a terrible manager.

Ianto continues to stand motionless in front of Jack. His spine is straight, and his head is bowed. He’s awaiting a judgment Jack knows he isn’t qualified to give, awaiting punishment Jack isn’t sure is useful, awaiting — something. Jack doesn’t know what.

He doesn’t talk to his people, doesn’t find out what their hopes and dreams are, doesn’t ask what their tragedies are. He tells them what needs doing and expects them to do it without question. He lays into them if they hesitate, if they show the slightest bit of human reaction to what they’re doing day after day and night after night. Yet, if they start getting too focused, he mocks them for not having a life.

For the most part, consistency isn’t exactly his strong suit. Unless he’s in —

Jack narrows his eyes and considers the possibility. Ianto is waiting to be punished. It’s necessary — even though everyone knows this isn’t going to happen again — because the team needs it. They need to know that Jack has dealt firmly and decisively with Ianto’s failure to use his brain. An added complication is Ianto’s tendency toward obsession. With Lisa gone, Ianto will be at loose ends, and Jack would rather not leave the object of Ianto’s future devotion up to random chance. It’s much better to arrange things so that he knows exactly who and what Ianto is obsessing over. Jack takes in Ianto’s posture and is suddenly positive that he can kill two birds with one stone — three, if he counts getting Ianto back and working for the team as quickly as possible.

“Take off your clothes.”

Ianto doesn’t object to the order. He doesn’t even look up as he removes his jacket and tie to hang them over the back of a chair. Shoes and socks are next, and Ianto, ever neat and tidy, sits to remove them properly. The shirt is after that, and Ianto undoes each button carefully and in order before removing it and draping it over his jacket and tie.

This methodical stripping away of clothing is possibly the most erotic thing Jack has ever seen in his life, and that includes one hell of a memorable month with the Doctor. Jack is hard from watching Ianto bare himself, and he isn’t shy about that. Ianto would know the effect he’s having on Jack if he bothered to look up, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes down and away from Jack, and that’s not something Jack will permit. Not looking simply means Ianto is still hiding, and hiding is what got them here in the first place. Coming out into the open will get them moving again.

Fully naked, Ianto returns to where he stood before. His arms are down, as are his eyes. He’s the perfect picture of submission, and Jack isn’t going to let him get away with it. He won’t allow Ianto any other secrets, not when they’ve proven to be so dangerous.

“Look at me, Ianto.”

The command is softly spoken, yet for all that, Ianto jumps as though Jack just shouted at him.

“Look at me.”

Ianto raises his eyes unwillingly. He raises his hands, too, to cover his cock, which is the exact wrong thing to do.

“Arms down.”

Jack waits patiently as Ianto struggles with this. Physically naked is one thing. Emotionally naked is something entirely worse, especially for someone as contained as Ianto normally is. Jack scoots forward on the couch and reaches for Ianto’s cock, which started hardening when he looked at Jack and is well on its way to fully erect. Jack grasps it just below the head and swipes his thumb across the top.

And then Jack does nothing else. He keeps his grip on Ianto’s cock too loose to do any good and too tight to be anything but a deliberate display of power. This isn’t Jack’s preference. Jack would much rather touch and taste and learn every square millimeter of Ianto’s arousal. He wants to know the slide of Ianto’s foreskin and the taste of his ejaculate, and Jack really wants to know if Ianto comes in short spurts or a long, slow pulse. If they were in any other circumstances, Jack would allow himself the luxury of finding out immediately, but they aren’t. Jack has a point to make, and the only way to make it is if he shows himself capable of the discipline Ianto currently lacks.

The two of them are locked in this odd little tableau — Jack staring up at Ianto and holding his gaze as effortlessly as he holds his cock — for a solid minute before Ianto’s hips twitch forward once. The next movement is more deliberate, and Jack allows it. He allows Ianto to try to fuck his hand, because if Jack has guessed right, this is the last time Ianto will attempt to control his own climax.

When Ianto reaches to help things along, Jack slaps his hand away. “You told me I didn’t care. You complained that I never once asked you about your life outside Torchwood.”

Ianto freezes then, his eyes going wide at Jack’s tone and words, because of all the problems Ianto has, being slow on the uptake isn’t one of them.

Jack smiles.

“Sir.” It’s the first thing Ianto has said since the two them retreated to Jack’s office. The fact that he says it as Jack is holding his cock is icing on the cake.

“You’ll be happy to know that while I do make mistakes, I don’t make the same mistake twice. You wanted my attention,” Jack says softly, “and now you have it. The only question is whether or not you still want it. Tonight, you have two choices, Ianto. Behind Door Number Two is retconning and a life away from Torchwood.”

“And Door Number One, sir?” A trickle of sweat runs down the side of Ianto’s face then runs along his jaw before dropping to his chest. Jack would kill to lick it up right then, but discipline must be maintained, especially this early in the game.

“Door Number One allows you stay here under certain conditions.” Jack tightens his fist around Ianto’s cock and enjoys the warm, hard weight of it in his hand. “When you’re on shift, you’ll work as well as you always have, because I don’t think either of us wants me to start telling you how to do your job.”

“No, sir.” Ianto’s voice catches and sounds more than a little hopeful when he says, “And off shift?”

“Off shift, you’ll report to me here.” Jack slows his hand and loosens his grip. Ianto is too close, and the night is a little too old, especially for what Jack has in mind.

“For — for what, sir?” Ianto’s hips are moving, most likely without him being entirely aware of it.

“For lessons in self-discipline. You’ll do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Obedience will be your watchword.” Ianto’s musk is enough to make Jack dizzy with longing, and he wonders why the hell he’s been making do with his own hand for the last couple of months. “When you’re here, I’ll be in complete charge of every aspect of your life.”

“Every aspect?”

“_Every_ aspect.” Jack tightens his hold on Ianto’s cock and again brings him to the edge without tipping him over, mostly because Ianto sounds damn good when he whimpers. “You won’t do anything without asking me first, and I do mean anything. The only standing order you’ll have is to keep breathing, and that’s it.”

“But what about —”

“If you need to pee, I expect you to say, ‘Captain, permission to pee, sir.’ If I say no —”

Before Jack can finish talking, Ianto’s cock twitches strongly. It’s the only warning Jack has, and it’s the only one he needs. He points Ianto’s cock in one direction — it’s a long, slow pulse — and leans in the opposite direction, mentally kicking himself for not taking enough care to prevent this very thing. His only consolation is that Ianto doesn’t soften at all, so there’s still hope for the remainder of the evening.

Minor disappointment aside, Ianto’s unanticipated enthusiasm for Door Number One is cause for celebration, though Jack isn’t ready to break out the champagne. He isn’t up on current labor law, but he’s fairly certain that turning a subordinate into a sex slave is frowned upon in this era. He’s also fairly certain he’s taking a shortcut that will probably backfire on him at some point in the future.

Not that it matters. As long as the Cardiff team does its job and the town doesn’t blow up, Jack’s superiors won’t question his methods. Judging by Ianto’s reactions so far, he won’t question Jack either, which is good, because Jack’s uneasiness isn’t enough to make him stop this course of action or even slow down a little.

“On your knees,” Jack says.

It’s the worst kind of cliché, but apparently, Ianto is an uncomplicated sort of man when it comes to sex, since he doesn’t seem bothered by the stale line. He kneels, and then he reaches for Jack’s trousers without prompting.

As it turns out, Ianto’s mouth is more than enough to help Jack ignore his conscience.


End file.
